


Let The Sky Fall, When It Crumbles We Will Stand Tall

by teenuviel1227



Series: Commissions July-August 2018 [6]
Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Fluff, Heist AU, Lovers to enemies to lovers, M/M, bodyguards AU, commission, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-23 04:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15598344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: The one where Jae and Brian are rival bodyguards hired to work for the same boss--a powerful businessman who gets kidnapped under their care, leaving them to take the blame. In an effort to clear their name, they go on a hunt for their boss, and fall in love in the process.





	1. This Is The End, Hold Your Breath & Count To Ten

**Author's Note:**

> his is a commission for @hey__bil on Twitter. Thank you so much for trusting me with this. I hope you enjoy it! Lyrics are from Skyfall by Adele. Two chapters will be uploaded every-other-day starting today. :D So stay tuned.
> 
> I only have two spots left for commissions; you can access all information here: https://twitter.com/teenuviel1227/status/1016158507526000643

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting, old rivals, a reluctant start.

Brian isn’t really sure who it is that he’d expected when they said that he’d be working with the best--maybe Sungjin, with whom he’d worked in Siberia for a couple of months in 2015, or Wonpil, who seemed to be  _ the  _ hacker on everyone’s hire list these days, or maybe even Dowoon who was doing really well with his ballistics operations--but one thing’s for sure: he definitely hadn’t expected  _ this. _

Today, Brian’s sitting in a conference room set up on the 18th floor of Gamja Corp, dressed in a black leather jacket and ripped jeans, his riding boots laced tight, holster fastened to his hip. He’s rocking his chair, has his feet up on the desk. Toward the front of the room, Bernard, a classmate at University before they’d both dropped out to pursue more profitable ventures, is setting up the board: on it are lists, photos linked by red string, various maps marked with X-es written in thick, blue, felt-tip pen.

“Don’t worry, Bri,” Bernard says, grinning. “You’re going to love this guy. You’ll finally know what it’s like working with the best,  _ for _ the best. No more shady deals, no more makeshift weapons. It’s all so fucking legit, dude, I’m in love with Gamja Corp--and I’m sure you will be too.” 

And for some reason, Brian believes him--maybe it’s the fact that Bernard’s turned in his old, baggy flannel polos for a crisp, black suit or the fact that everything about this whole thing seems so  _ sterile _ , so safe, so secure, maybe it’s that part of Brian that longs for security, that wants a kind of assurance after years of roughing it--that part of him that craves stability underneath all of his bravado. For one thing, the orientation happens in broad daylight, at 12 in the afternoon in a large room made of floor-to-ceiling glass, the kind of building he wouldn’t have even been allowed into just a year ago--all of this is new to Brian, who’s used to working mostly for what other people would consider the enemy: mobs, gangs,  _ bad _ people. This isn’t like that--or so Bernard promised, and so Brian hopes. There’s coffee and his name is on a payroll and there’s a contract to be signed, taxes to be charged to a TIN number that he hadn’t used since he’d gotten it way back when. 

So culling his initial instinct to snap at Bernard and say something off-hand and cocky like  _ No, I’m the best _ or try and make crude guesses at what the ploy at hand might be, Brian just sits back and relaxes, tries not to get anxious about this job, tries to tell himself that he’s made it. 

And then the elevator dings and the door to the room swings open and all of his reserve goes out the window.

The sight of him hits Brian like a wave knocking a surfer off of his board: even after all these years, Jae is still tall, pale, grinning that cocky, eat-shitting grin as he saunters into the room in a baggy hoodie and even baggier jeans. 

_ Fuck. No.  _

“Bernard, what the hell is going on here?” Brian sits up, the metal of the chair scraping against the marble floor. 

Bernard cringes at the sound. “Christ, Bri. What the fuck do you mean--”

“-- _ he’s _ the best I’m going to be working with--?”

“--hey, BriBri,” Jae says, grinning, slipping into the seat beside him. He’s sucking on a lollipop that’s turned his tongue hot pink. He licks at the head before winking at Brian. “You miss me?”

Bernard grins. “--oh so you guys already know each other? That’s great--”

“--it’s not  _ great _ , it’s fucking infernal,” Brian spits out. “I refuse to work with him.”

“--you wound me,” Jae chides, slipping his backpack off of his shoulders and opening it to a computer he’d obviously rigged, its screen and screws and different parts all different brands and colors. There’s a giant surfboard sticker on the front that’s so bright it makes Brian’s eyes hurt. “Anyway. I’m totally fine with working with BriBri over here--”

“-- _ how _ do you guys know each other?” Bernard asks, brow furrowed. 

Jae grins and Brian wants to hit him, knock that silly smile off his face. 

“Do you want to tell the story, BriBri, or should I?”

“Don’t _ fucking _ call me that.” 

“I’ll do it then. We met in prison--”

“--he  _ got us into prison _ ,” Brian corrects, annoyed at the way Jae’s spinning it--and even more annoyed at the way that Jae’s fringe is falling just-right over one eye, the way Brian has to fight the impulse to push Jae’s hair back.  _ A beautiful man who says the dumbest shit. Great. _ “We were doing a job for a client operating from isolation and he fucking drilled us in, accidentally sealed the entrance, and couldn’t get us out.” 

Jae shrugs. “Well. I got you out, didn’t I? So what the hell are you complaining about?” 

“You didn’t get us out, I found us a route,” Brian says, his voice booming in the room. 

“Oh come  _ on _ , the route was through the fucking sewers,” Jae replies, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “It was literally the  _ easiest _ solution.” 

“HAH! Why didn’t you think of it yourself, then? And excuse you, who stabbed the guy who grabbed the hem of your pants--”

“--oh please--”

“--hey, idiots!” Bernard’s voice blares throughout the conference room, silencing both of them. “Look, I don’t care what kind of beef you two have, I need you two for this job and I know that both of you need it too. This is a legitimate job for a big name, no murders, no fucking heists, no shady business. You two won’t be in danger of being locked up for once. You both don’t have any agency credentials, you’ve both botched your juvi records--but you both get the job done and you’re both my friends. This’ll be good for you guys, okay? And I really want to help but you have to at least  _ try _ to get along. Kapish?”

“Look,” Jae slouches in his chair, turns the cap on his head backwards. “I don’t have a problem with Brian. I  _ like _ Brian. It’s him you have to convince.”

Bernard raises an eyebrow, glances at Brian. “Well?”

“Fine.” Brian meets Bernard’s gaze and rolls his eyes. “But just for the record,  _ Jae’s _ working with the best, not the other way around.”

  
  


The first time that Brian saw Jae was in the back of a van parked downtown, right next to a giant dumpster and a mattress that still had its Hello Kitty sheets on. It was three years ago, just another job--and yet, one that had changed Brian’s life forever. Before that, he’d had pretty much a hundred-percent success rate. Before that, he’d been on the run, sure, but never desperate, never terrified of failure. 

Which, in hindsight, Brian thinks is crazy stupid because the job was easy, simple, ele-fucking-mentary.

Brian was the guns man and Jae was the hacker and the heist was for a syndicate whose head honcho had been locked up in isolation for the next forty years--the initial plan was simple: they’d pose as inmates, Jae would get them in and out, Brian would take care of the guns and delivering the chip itself which was encased in the dog tags around his neck. 

The thing is that the first time Brian saw Jae, he’d felt his stomach do a complete 360--talented hackers in the game? Easy-peasy, a dime for a million. Talented hackers who looked like Park Jaehyung? Once in a fucking lifetime. Back then he was platinum blonde with an undercut that Brian swore was so sharp he could probably cut himself running his hands through it--if he ever got the chance,  _ maybe after it’s over _ \--and he still wore all of his piercings (absent today, Brian notes). He was sucking on a blue lollipop that turned his tongue purple and Brian could swear he saw a glimmer of silver, a tongue ring slipping between flesh and candy. 

“Jae, this is Brian--guns. Bri, this is Jae, code.”

“Hey,” Brian said, enjoying the view as Jae sat leaning back against the leather car seat, legs apart, tongue doing vile things with that lollipop.

And then he spoke and Brian felt his knees--usually so sturdy, especially when they got going which they definitely wanted to do in Jae’s presence--go like jelly and he knew he was toast. 

“Eyyyy, BriBri,” Jae let out a low whistle as Brian hopped into the back of the van, sat opposite him. His voice was gentle but hoarse, soft but sexy in its own way. “Not everyday you see a hot ballistics guy.”

Brian grinned, letting his nose scrunch in that way that he’d been told all his life was irresistibly charming. “Not so bad yourself, nerd.”

“Jesus,” Jamie said, rolling her eyes from the driver’s seat, eyes on them in the rearview mirror as she lit a cigarette, the dim light in the van bouncing off of her silver nose ring. “Work first, flirt later--Jae, do we have the code sorted? Bri, update on concealment?”

In hindsight, Brian thinks that might’ve been the wrong time to slide a foot out of his sneaker, across the small bit of floors[ace and up between Jae’s legs, might’ve been the wrong time to grin as he felt Jae squirm, felt him slither lower on his seat to catch some friction, might’ve been the wrong time to mouth  _ fuck when it’s over?  _

But Jae hadn’t seemed too flustered, had just winked, mouthed  _ you bet, handsome _ before turning back to his computer--then Brian had taken his foot back, still grinning as he mentally counted his guns: two strapped to the inside of shins, one tucked into the waistband of his jumpsuit, another two strapped to his back. One knife hidden in his socks, to be safe.

“We’re all good,” Jae said, giving Jamie a thumbs up. 

“Alright,” Jamie said, putting her cigarette out in an ashtray sitting on the dashboard. “Let’s rock and roll.” 

  
  


To be fair, Brian thinks, as Bernard leads them down the white corridors punctuated with the bright red lights and logos of Gamja Corp to get their suits fitted, neither he nor Jae could  _ possibly  _ have known what would go down  _ after  _ they’d delivered the chips. In that way, the job  _ had  _ been a success: they’d gotten into prison dressed up as inmates, had stolen some guards’ uniforms, had used Jae’s rigged access chips to get into isolation and slip the boss the dog tags--and then they’d ditched the uniforms, put the suits back on, and gone the way that they’d come. Their guards were down, their minds off the heist and focusing solely on the mindless escape, their route plotted, Jamie waiting for them in the woods behind the prison.

What they hadn’t expected was that when Jae rigged  _ all  _ the doors to open so they could slip quietly out during the panic, only theirs would swing open, that the search lights would go bright and loud and they’d both be caught red-handed running across the field: two deer caught in the headlights. On any other circumstances, both of them would’ve probably kept their heads, would’ve known to stay in the cell and chalk it up to a system glitch but they’d panicked.

Because they’d been--well, preoccupied.

Because just a few minutes prior to the alarm going off, to everything changing, they’d both realized that they were alone in their cell with each other, both realized that something about the chase--something about each other drove them a little bit crazy, made their hearts beat faster, harder. Because just a few minutes before all hell broke loose, Brian found him and Jae a couple of inches too close, found himself leaning in and raising a hand to stroke the soft fuzz of Jae’s undercut before grinning and bringing their lips together in a hot, wet kiss that tasted like candy--bubblegum flavor, Brian thought as Jae sighed into the kiss and pulled him closer. 

By the time they pulled away, Brian was dizzy with desire.

“Holy shit--” 

And then the alarms rang. 

And they’d forgotten to look around, forgotten to see if all of the doors had unlocked, forgotten to check if the code was correct, if it had worked--they’d bolted, running from the cell hand-in-hand. And then they were two mice in a house full of cats--the guards on their tail, Jae tripping on his shoelaces, Brian pulling him up, both of them ambling across the field, not even thinking to run zig-zag, running straight into the periphery of light. 

Brian, tugging them down into the small gutter just out of the floodlight’s grasp. One of the guards catching the hem of Jae’s pants, Brian pulling the knife out of its sheath in his sock in time to drive it through the man’s hands--and then they were pulling the drain cover open, running into the wet, dark, smelly tunnel, dirty water splashing at their heels. They ran, slipped, slid, got up again, making their way toward the light at the end of it all--the creek into which the prison emptied its bowels. 

And then the guard came out of nowhere, running out from one of the gutters, catching Brain off guard, pinning him to the wall, gun raised, locked and loaded. And then the thing that Brian couldn’t forgive Jae for: Jae stood in front of him, grinned and pressed his forehead to the gun’s mouth. 

“Fire away asshole.”

In a single motion, Brian found himself drawing his gun the quickest that he had ever drawn a gun in his life, fingers working at top speed as he pulled his gun out from the waistband of his jumpsuit, cocking it and pulling the trigger before the other guy did, sending him down into a puddle of water that turned red from his blood. 

“Good shot--” Jae grinned, turning to face Brian only to see that he was seething, furious.

“--what the fuck were you thinking?”

Brian studied Jae’s eyes, his face-- _ how is he so calm?  _

Brian’s own hands were trembling, shaking from fear. Jae--he’d almost died.

“I--”

“--your stupidity could’ve gotten us killed--”

Impatience and then slow anger worked itself across Jae’s face. 

“--excuse me, but I don’t think I was alone when I  _ ran _ out of the goddamn cell--”

“--you should’ve seen it. You coded the damn thing for fuck’s sake--”

“--well,” Jae said, hands on his hips, eyes wide, lips pursed in the absence of his usual lollipop. “ _ You  _ kissed  _ me, you  _ fuckin’ footsied  _ me _ , so this one’s on you.” 

“Fine,” Brian said, seething with anger, with regret, with the hope that Jae would see through him laced with the resentment that he hadn’t. “So be it.”

“Tell Jamie to wire me the money, I don’t feel like seeing you again, BriBri.” 

And with that, Jae had walked away from him and into the light.  
  


 

“Nice.” 

Brian looks up, brought out of the haze of memory by Jae’s voice. Jae’s looking at himself in the mirror, is dressed in a black suit identical to the one Brian’s wearing--but in Brian’s opinion it looks fifty times better on Jae: something about the cut of the suit brings out the broad line of his shoulders, something in the high cut of the waist emphasizes the length of his legs. He watches as Jae runs a hand through his hair--these days, he wears it black and it falls maddeningly over one eye. The undercut is gone but it irritates Brian to no end that he likes the look that’s replaced it even better.

Jae slips a hand into the pocket of his coat, tilts his head slightly and catches Brian’s eye in the mirror. “Enjoying the view, BriBri?”

“You wish,” Brian retorts. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was thinking about the  _ job. _ ”

Jae smirks, tongue swirling over the top of his lollipop in a way that Brian tries to ignore. “You and your jobs. You always had a dirty mind.” 

Brian feels himself blush despite himself. “I’d respond but you might code us into oblivion if I so much as touched you. You know how flustered you get.”

Jae glares at him, silenced for now. 

Bernard sighs. 

“Will you two  _ stop it _ ? We have a job to do.”


	2. Swept Away, I’m Stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blip on the radar, a blindspot.

As much as he hates to admit it, Jae’s favorite part of the job is probably arguing with Brian. 

Sure, at first the  _ thought  _ of working for Gamja Corp seemed exciting: mostly he’d been thrilled at the thought of complex coding, for the security networks and frameworks that he’d have to put up, the bugs that he’d have to thwart. But everything was easier than he expected--for one thing, working with a budget meant they had pretty much everything they needed, and also, there’d been nil threats on the battlefront. 

It was like being promised a Zombie Apocalypse--except you have everything you need and there aren’t any Zombies.

Mostly, it’s Jae sitting outside Gamja’s office, playing Minecraft while the DOS box glares at him from the corner of the screen, angry and empty. 

Mostly, nights on the job consist of Jae sucking on his lollipops to stay awake--and then getting so antsy that it takes all his effort not to get on his bike and drive home. He has to admit: he misses the thrill of the chase, misses the feeling of someone breathing down his neck as he types source code quick, sure, having to speed-read through the blinking white text in its black box. Misses the feeling of  _ getting the hell out _ and jumping on the back of a motorbike or being pulled into the back of a speeding car right as he hits the Enter button. 

When Bernard told him he had a job for him and that that job was for Gamja Corp, Jae’s immediate answer was  _ fuck no.  _ For one thing, Jae didn’t  _ do  _ corporate--too messy, too much paperwork. And also, he knew from doing a quick hack that Gamja Corp had a lot of dirt: privacy invasion, irresponsible mining projects, piracy of higher-ups, corruption in the Board of Directors. But Jae and Bernard knew each other since they were kids--Bernard knew how to play him, how to get his attention: he promised that the job would be challenging, showed him a portfolio of Gamja Corp’s in-house products featuring the fanciest IoT, including types of automation still considered illegal by the government. 

_ Imagine working with all of that. Plus we’re not talking about the protection of some small fry here. We’re talking about Gamja himself. _

They’d be protecting Mr. G, the guy who made everything tick.

And when Jae had hesitated even then, of course, Bernard had brought up Dowoon.  

The money, he said, would be enough to send Dowoon to that fancy music school he wanted to go to. 

A flaw in the facade--Jae’s weakness (well, aside from bad boys who knew their way around guns, apparently): his baby cousin, Dowoon, who he did all of this crazy stuff for. His baby cousin, Dowoon, whose singular passion was playing the drums, who’d gotten into the Berklee College of Music but couldn’t afford to go and wasn’t quite poor enough to be up for financial aid (the apartment he and Jae owned was under Dowoon’s name).

In the end, that’s what made him say yes. It’d be nice to have something stable for once, to be able to chill out, to be able to go to work and  _ not _ leave Dowoon an emergency bag with most of the cash Jae owned (banks were too risky) with a note that read  _ if I’m not back in two days, take the bike and run.  _

But the bottomline was that stable also tended to be routinary, boring--and for someone with Jae’s nil attention span and restless mind, absolute torture. In that context, his worst enemy, Brian Kang, seemed almost like a beacon of hope. At least, in arguing with Brian there was some kind of quick stimulation, a kind of prompt that Jae could use his extra energy on. 

_ Plus _ , Jae thinks, watching as Brian sits on a chair across from him, dark hair falling into his eyes as he’s bent over an old paperback, brows furrowed.  _ He’s hot. An idiot. But really hot.  _

Brian’s coat is hanging on the back of his chair, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his guns locked loaded in holsters across his chest. Jae wonders what to pick a fight about tonight. His book? But it’s a book that Jae actually likes--Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore, a novel he remembers as both zany and dead-serious, dark and ridiculously hilarious. Maybe he could pick Brian’s stupid way of  reacting to whatever’s happening on the page? Right now Brian goes from serious to laughing silently--and Jae hates that he finds it cute, hates that if he were to bring it up he’d probably slip and betray himself. His dumb-ass off-duty dom look with the coat off?  _ But making dom sound like a bad thing is going to be like praying for rain.  _

Jae frowns.

More prison jokes?

He glances at the screen. Nothing. Not even a  _ blip _ on the radar of Jae’s security tech, not even the slightest hint at a glitch. On the other screen with the security cameras, nothing but perfectly still pictures of the ramp, the garage, the two elevators, the back room where Mr. G’s accountants are crunching numbers. 

Later, Jae will think he should’ve known that the feeds were too still to be working properly, that he should’ve taken the peacefulness in promised turmoil as something seriously worrisome, something to look into.

Because what happens next neither of them expect: the lights go out, someone knocks Jae off of his chair and he feels Brian cry out as he’s knocked down. Their hands find each other in the darkness. 

“You okay?”

“Fine. Shh--"

They hear the door to Gamja’s office unlock, hear footsteps padding into the other room, hear a yell coming from the office, hear the sound of glass breaking.

“Fuck.” Brian clicks his flashlight on, gets to his feet and runs stealthily toward the door frame, back to the wall. He catches a glimpse of the silhouettes of four men, the boss in tow between them. Brian cocks his gun and aims--but he’s too shaken, the angle is odd, and he can’t get a clear shot. He puts his gun down. “Christ.”

There’s the sound of a door opening somewhere.

The lights come back on. 

Jae and Brian are alone. 

“What the fuck was  _ that _ ?” Jae frowns, pulls his smaller console out, eyes growing wide as he sees his code shifting: the code rewriting itself. “How the actual--” 

“--I’m calling Bernard,” Brian says, pulling his phone out. 

  
  


“You motherfucking  _ asshole _ !” Brian’s voice rings out loud in the near-empty room.

Jae wonders how things got this far--how the night had gone so quickly from boring-as-fuck to this: he and Brian are being slammed against the table, arms bound behind them with cuffs. Bernard and his men are pacing the room, checking surveillance cameras, looking around for fingerprints.

“What the fuck, man,” Jae says, frowning. “You’re acting insane--”

“--look, Jae,” Bernard replies, frowning as he watches the surveillance back. “I’m just being reasonable. I can’t argue with the evidence that’s present--there were no reported breaches anywhere else: not in the building, not on this wing, not in the elevators. The doors weren’t forced, they opened properly, and you two were the only people who knew the code. 

“What part of they cut the power don’t you understand?” Jae asks, exasperated. “They cut the fucking power or disabled the keypad--”

“--you realize that we hired you because we needed a hacker, right?” 

“--I  _ saw _ them,” Brian cuts in. “Four men, the boss between them--I heard glass breaking--”

“A jar was shattered,” Bernard confirms. “But the fabric on it was Gamja Corp-issued fabric. So it had to be an inside job. So what do we get, then--two ex-cons, a kidnapping, a claimed power outage but no evidence, no breach, and a multi-millionaire missing?”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Brian spits out.

“And you’re a hot head.” Bernard says coolly. 

“Bernard, look,” Jae says, trying a last plea at lobbying their point. “I’m not disagreeing with you about it being an inside job, but it wasn’t us--”

“--then who would it have been, Jae?” Bernard asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Jae opens his mouth to say something and realizes he has no idea what to say. 

“Right,” Bernard sighs. He nods toward the guard by the entrance. “Let’s take them to the police station.”  
  


 

One thing that Jae and Brian never talk about whenever they talk about the prison stint and how much they hate each other is  _ why _ that job had gone so smoothly--they had a certain kind of chemistry, got on from the get-go, had developed an odd way of telling each other what they were thinking without saying anything. Now, as they’re sitting in the back of the SUV, hands cuffed in front of them, guns and laptop taken away, Jae only managing to salvage his small console that was slim enough to slip into the waistband of his pants, he prays to god that Brian remembers their code. 

Hand on the knee: got a gun.

Hand on the elbow: got a knife.

Finger on the inside of the wrist: relax.

One long tug on the sleeve: got a plan, just go with it.

Two short tugs on the sleeve: affirmative.

Pinky skimming pinky: let’s get the fuck out of here.

Jae has a small weapon that he’s hidden in his coat pocket, something that he’d worked on the code for as a passion project, but hadn’t had the guts to get tested--in case it was dangerous, in case some people came looking for the tech because god knew he wasn’t going to sell that. The bot was as small as a spider, contained poisonous gas--and Jae had developed two smaller spider bots which were automatic masks that could fit on the person holding the console. Of course, ideally, he wouldn’t have to test the tech in a car going at 120 down the freeway, but whatever. 

Also, he knows Brian’s afraid of spiders--which is exactly why he’d shaped them like that.

He glances at Brian, who’s looking out the window at the river going by. Jae takes a deep breath, moves his hands over to Brian’s and gives Brian’s sleeve one good, long tug. 

Brian startles, turns to look at him. There’s a moment of hesitation--for a second, Jae thinks he’s forgotten, thinks they’re doomed, wonders whether he has a better chance of survival by jumping out and rolling onto the freeway and miraculously not getting run over. 

And then Brian reaches over and gives Jae’s sleeve two short tugs. 

Jae grins despite himself. He pulls his console out of his pocket quietly, carefully hits a couple of keys. The spiderbots in his coat pocket twitch. He watches Brian’s eyes grow wide in horror as one metal spider digs into the fabric of the backseat and the other two perch on Jae and Brian’s shoulders, clinging onto the fabric of their suits.

Jae puts a finger softly to Brian’s pulse.  _ Relax. They don’t bite. _

Brian rolls his eyes but gives a small nod.

“Hey, eggheads,” Jae says to the men driving.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I need to pee.” 

“What?” 

“Pull over. I need a river to piss into.”

“You can’t piss there--”

“--would you rather I piss here? Cause let me tell you, I had like, fifteen hundred cups of coffee today and this golden shower is going to smell  _ nasty _ \--”

“--Jesus. Fine.” The car grinds to a halt on the shoulder lane, screeching from the sudden movement, the hand break clicking in place. A couple of cars honk loudly behind them. “Make it fast.”

“Whatever you say.” Jae hits the Enter button on his console. 

The spiderbots on Jae and Brian’s suits disengage, crawl onto the backs of their napes before spreading their limbs and engaging, forming a mask around their noses, mouths. The spiderbot on the seat starts to secrete blue, hazy gas. 

“What--” The men in the front seat fall unconscious even as they make to defend themselves.

Brian doesn’t waste any time, unlocks the door and gets out. He opens the passenger door, pulls the two guards out through the side facing the river so nothing looks suspicious from the road. Jae picks their pockets for the keys to the cuffs, undoing first Brian’s and then letting Brian undo his. Brian strips the men of their cash, their guns, their cellphones. Jae grins as he finds a good old Cola-flavored lollipop in one of the guard’s pockets.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brian says, rolling his eyes. 

Jae wiggles his eyebrows. “It all works out, huh.” 

Jae gets into the driver’s seat, Brian riding shotgun. 

They take a deep breath. 

“Guess we’re stuck together again,” Jae says, putting the hand break down. “You have anywhere you want to get dropped off?”

Brian frowns. “I don’t think we can do that now. You text Dowoon?”

“He’ll know what to do,” Jae says. “It’s our rule. If I’m not back, assume the worst, go into hiding. I don’t want them to be able to trace any texts or calls back to him. You text--whoever it is you text these days?"

Brian shakes his head, grins. “You know me. I don’t ever have anyone to text.”

Jae throws him a sidelong glance. “Out of the city, then?”

Brian doesn’t respond, only reaches over to graze his pinky softly against Jae’s.

_ Let’s get out of here. _


	3. Worlds Collide & Days Are Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The open road, a question, an answer.

The rain pours outside, thunder booming as lightning tears across the black sky. Inside the motel room, the light coming from a small lava lamp is warm: orange moving into purple moving into pink. They’re in the honeymoon suite of the Lava Love Motel, six hours of driving away from the city, forty minutes away from the highway--the Gamja Corp-issued car sold second-hand at the first used car garage they’d spotted, swapped for an old Kawasaki such a bright pink it makes Brian’s eyes hurt.

“I’m going to murder him,” Brian says, pushing his suspenders off of his shoulders before hurling himself onto the water bed that does a soft bloop-bloop sound as it sways beneath him. He’s drenched from the rain, the white fabric of his shirt sticking to his back, his hair a matted mess on his temples. He feels his muscles relax, give into the ache they’ve felt from riding and running and being pushed from his chair. He rolls his shoulder: a tight knot just below his left shoulder blade, tension hardening like soil in the sun. “I mean I’ve shot people before but for him I think it’ll probably be best to go with the good old rip him limb from fucking limb--”

“--he probably didn’t mean to do it,” Jae says, sighing as he shrugs out of his coat, throws the plastic bag of clothes that he and Brian had bought from the nearby 7/11 onto the floor by the bed. Jae frowns, undoing his tie, the top buttons on his shirt before running a hand through his hair which is soaked through and dripping rainwater into his eyes. “You know how Bernard can be. He’s a little cheeky, a bit mischievious--”

Brian shakes his head, a small part of him wondering at how underneath all of Jae’s cockiness and shit-eating attempts at bravado, there’s a part of him that remains unfailingly optimistic. Brian feels a pang of panic, of pain, of old fondness and hurt and fear mingled with longing at the memory of Jae stepping in front of him, pressing his forehead to the gun, through-the-wall sure that the man wouldn’t pull the trigger.

_Sadly, I’m not quite that cheerful about people._

“--cheeky? That wasn’t cheeky, Jae. That was fucking treachery.” Brian sits up in bed, watching as Jae slouches against the far wall, his gait tired, weary. “You know what the Bernard I knew would’ve fuckin’ done? Asked us what happened, dug deeper. He wanted to throw us under the bus--”

“--it doesn’t make sense,” Jae says, shaking his head. He frowns, lifts a finger to rub softly at his temples. “It’s giving me fucking headache just thinking about it. Why would he ask us to work on this job only to set us up?”

“I don’t know,” Brian says, kicking off his shoes. “But I’m sure that he’s in on it--”

“--what makes you so sure?”

“Remember when he asked us if we knew each other?” Brian points out.

“Yeah…?” Jae asks slowly, blinking in that way that Brian’s always found adorable. “I mean that’s a normal question to ask when a person’s first words to your friend at an orientation are basically _fuck no_ , _not you again._ ”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Guilty as charged. But you’re missing the point. Remember what he said while they were pushing us onto the desk and cuffing us--”

“--no,” Jae says, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I was too busy focusing on the fact that they were pushing us onto the desk and cuffing us--”

“--he asked what possible conclusion there could be,” Brian says. “And he called us ex-cons like he’d read it off a file, like it was a credential.”

Jae raises an eyebrow. “We told him that though--”

“--you know how there’s a difference between the way you tell people what your parents do as a kid and the way you tell them what your parents do when you’re grown up but somehow that first thing always takes precedent under pressure?” Brian asks, scanning Jae’s face to see if he follows. “Like when I was a kid, I told everyone my dad was a businessman. Of course, over the years, I figured out that meant selling heroin so now if someone asks, I’m like, well, you know, he’s a drug dealer and we’re estranged. But there are moments, small things that really grind my goddamn bones, put pressure on my fuck-society brain like application forms for this motherfucking job where I find myself writing that _b_ in businessman on the dotted line before I catch myself--”

Brian looks up, hates the concern that he sees swimming in Jae’s eyes, if only because he finds himself wanting so badly to drink it in.

_To drown in it._

“--Bri--”

“--that’s how Bernard sounded when he said ex-con. Like he knew it from memory, like he’d heard it before in another way.”

Jae kicks off his shoes, surprises Brian by flopping onto the bed next to him, face-down.

“Fine. So let’s say Bernard’s in on it--what do we do now?”

Brian grins, watching as Jae turns to face him, watching the way the water bed’s surface smooshes Jae’s cheek. _Cute._

“We find Gamja.”

 

It’s a recurring dream that Jae’s had over and over again over the past few years, a dream that he hates because it comes when it’s least convenient--on nights when he’s already riddled with anxiety, nights when he’s worn to the bone with exhaustion.

And tonight is no different.

The dream is the same as always: it’s three years ago and he and Brian are in the sewers, that man in his mass-issue suit and snide smile standing in front of them, his gun held up and pointed at Brian. There is the sound of water rushing in the background. The sewer water has seeped into their shoes, the hems of their orange jumpsuits soaked. Dim light filters into the dome-shaped hallway from a vent nearby.

Brian has his hands held high, is trying to say something smart.

Jae is standing a couple of meters from Brian, just out of arm’s reach.

Jae is watching him as if in suspended animation, in slow motion: the way his lashes sweep his cheeks when he blinks, the way that his quiet mouth tries to say things quicker than itself, the way that his hands kiss the light as he holds them aloft in surrender. Always, in the dream, Jae tries to save him, takes a step forward only to realize that there are heavy chains on his ankles. The more he struggles to reach Brian--which he always does--the shorter, the heavier, the tighter the chains become.

 _Jae_ , Brian’s always calling out in the dream. _Help me._

Jae reaches out a hand, their fingertips just short of kissing only for the cement underfoot to give way under duress of Jae’s chains--and then he’s falling, water pouring down on him, air suddenly short.

 _Brian,_ Jae thinks in the dream, desperation filling his veins. _I have to get to Brian._

And then the sound of a gunshot.

And then the water runs red, red, red, drowning him.

Jae jolts awake, cold sweat soaking his shirt, his heart pounding. The waterbed shifts beneath him. He looks around, heaves a sigh of relief at Brian’s sleeping figure beside him, facing the wall, the blankets wrapped around his  broad form. Their soaked clothes are in a pile in the doorway to the bathroom. On the bedside table, Brian’s guns are laid out, ready to be cocked and loaded at the smallest disturbance. Jae’s laid out their clothes for the next day out on the desk.

_It was just a dream._

Jae glances at Brian, reaches a hand out despite himself--if only because he’s never had the luxury of reassurance before, never had the opportunity to make sure, to know that Brian hadn’t been shot, to know that Brian’s alive. Brian blinks, eyes slowly fluttering open at Jae’s touch.

“You okay?”

Jae nods. “Bad dream.”

Brian smirks. “What, you want me to get you a glass of hot milk and sing you to sleep or something?”

Jae snorts. “No, loser. I was just checking for your pulse. I dreamt you died.”

“Jesus.”

Brian takes Jae’s wrist, presses Jae’s two fingers to his pulse. Jae feels the soft beating of Brian’s heart, the warmth of him under his fingertips, the tingle from his hair brushing softly against Jae’s skin. Relief courses through him like a river running over parched earth--Jae takes a second to breathe, drinks up the feeling.

Brian grins. “See? Alive.”

Jae smiles and lies back down, noting that Brian’s inched closer, is lying facing him now. Jae watches Brian’s face relax as he slides back into slumber, watches the tense muscles of his jaw slacken, watches as his hand eases on the pillow next to Jae’s head, blooming like a flower as it faces the sun.

Jae closes his eyes, letting the warm colors of the lava lamp melt into the blue dark behind his eyelids.

_Alive._

 

“It’s so weird, it’s still re-writing itself,” Jae says, frowning into the screen of his console as he and Brian watch the strings of code change, unfold on the screen. “I’ve been thinking about that night--and I think they switched the cameras, they probably messed with them so _we_ wouldn’t see anything and the central cameras wouldn’t see anything--so wherever they broke in had to have been within range of both Gamja’s office and the central security booth.”

It’s dawn the next day and both of them are up, already dressed in the ridiculous clothes they’d bought the day before: Brian in a shirt that reads Paradise Lost across the front and jeans studded with rhinestones, Jae in a sleeveless shirt with palm trees printed all across it and a pair of jogging pants with _bite me_ spelled out on the back. They’re sitting on the waterbed, Brian sipping from scalding-hot black coffee from the diner across the street, Jae sipping on a bottle of orange-flavored energy drink, both of them sharing a loaf of banana bread between them.

“That makes sense.” Brian nods. “Can you pull up the blueprints? Do we have access to that?”

“Psssh,” Jae says, grinning. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

Jae opens the Gamja Corp employee portal in a browser alongside a new DOS window, types into the console, hits Enter and skims, scans, until he comes up with a possible password--the code for the engineering department, 923, added to a scrambled variation of his own password assigned to someone else.

He inputs the value, hits Enter again.

It goes through.

_Welcome, Kim Wonpil! (Employee #923712631, Engineering Department)_

“Thank you, Kim Wonpil, whoever you are,” Jae mutters under his breath, clicking on the Infrastructure Information tab and hitting the 16th floor blueprint.

“We were here,” Brian says, pointing to a square on the map. “And the central security office was there--meaning whoever did it had to be at least on the east wing--”

“--what’s this?” Jae asks, peering to a rectangle behind Gamja’s office. “So there was the anteroom and then the office--but did you notice this square thing here?”

Brian shakes his head. “Isn’t that the back room? For the accountants?”

Jae frowns. “No that was on the left side, this is on the right.”

They meet each other’s gaze.

“Extra back room?” Jae asks, dubious.

“Nope,” Brian says, pointing to the nearby fire escape, shaped exactly like the odd rectangle. “Secret exit. That’s how they got out.”

“But where did they _go_?"

And then Jae’s console goes black.

“No,” Jae says, checking the power button, checking the battery level. “What the--”

The screen comes back on, but the cursor moves on its own, clicking open the DOS window where the code has finished rewriting itself. A final string unravels and is executed before a prompt window pops up.

 

_**Hello, Code and Guns!** _

_**R u willing to play this game?** _

_**Choose wisely.** _

_**[Y]         [N]** _

 

Jae and Brian look at each other.

Brian rolls his eyes. “I mean obviously, we play--”

“--reckless son of a--”

“--gun, yes, my specialty,” Brian finishes, grinning, seeing Jae’s face come alight with the thought of a game, a new challenge.

_Cute._

Jae clicks _**[Y]**_.

A new window opens, it reads:

 

_**37.268893, 126.889454** _

 

Brian finishes the rest of his coffee.

“Well, shall we?”

Jae grins, unwrapping a lollipop stashed in his pocket--cola--and slipping it into his mouth. Brian gets up, offers Jae his hand. Jae hesitates, a look of curiosity flickering on his face before it disappears, quick as a party trick, and gives way to a smile as he takes Brian’s hand and pulls himself to his feet.

“Let’s shall, BriBri.”

 


	4. Hear My Heart Burst Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heist, a ghost, a light burning bright.

The coordinates lead to an abandoned warehouse around an hour away from the motel. Jae and Brian drive up on the motorcycle, wheels squealing as they hit the curb. The facade of the warehouse is decrepit and worn, the blue paint on the roof peeling, rust peeking through on the edges of the fence that surrounds it.

The gray morning sky looms behind the building’s silhouette, dark and foreboding. It looks like it might rain again. Lightning flashes in the distance.

 _Of course,_ Jae thinks, hitting the brakes and putting the bike stand down. _That’s how cliche this is all going to get. There’s going to be a goddamn rainstorm right as they’re hacking us to death._

Brian takes his helmet off, hangs it on one of the handlebars next to Jae’s.

They’ve only got two guns today--one for him, one for Jae, but Brian counts anyway: a force of habit. _One, two._ He peers up at the windows. They’re opaque, covered with dust. Brian glances at Jae, who’s poking at the fence with a finger.

“What the hell are you doing?” Brian rolls his eyes but can’t help the fondness that blooms in his chest at the way that Jae laughs, his eyes crescent moons, smile wide.

He thinks of last night: Jae’s hand soft on his shoulder, the flicker of panic crossing Jae’s gentle features followed by a smile of relief as Brian held his fingers to his pulse. Brian’s heart lurches in his chest--he tries to push the thought away but it’s harder than he expects. It’s been so long since anyone’s been happy to see him.

_Alive._

“Looking for a weak spot, a chink in the chain.”

“It’s unlocked, boy genius,” Brian nods to the entrance on which the padlock hangs undone, sawed through clean. “Someone obviously wants us to go in.”

“Well,” Jae says, grinning and making for the entrance, slipping his console into his pocket before unwrapping a lollipop--cherry--and slipping it into his mouth. He pulls his gun out of its holster. “What’re we waiting for?”

 

It takes Dowoon some time to get everything done, to make sure that the coast is clear, to track Jae down and make sure that no one is watching, that no one is looking for him. Years of having known that his big cousin--brother, really, is a more accurate way to describe their relationship--had pretty much been engaging in espionage on his behalf had prepared him for this moment. Not to say that it hadn’t been his worst fear, not to say that all his life he hadn’t been terrified at the thought of coming home from school to find that Jae had finally done it, finally gotten himself caught or killed--but in the moment, he found himself so used to the hypothetical situation that when it happened, he was surprisingly level-headed.

The other night, had been, in many ways the worst night of Dowoon’s life. He’d come home from school, exhausted from his last-ever Trigonometry final which he was pretty sure he’d failed, had put a frozen slice of pizza in the oven, had double-checked to see if Jae’s usual bag of cash and supplies was in his room---it was, the note big and bold in red pen: **not back by 4:30 am, go** \--and then he’d eaten the pizza and rigged a couple of his guns, making new things from old crap he’d bought at junk yards. It was all very rough but Dowoon had his own side hustle, his own ballistics operations that he didn’t really tell Jae about--the story he told Jae was that he was simply refurbishing vintage guns to sell to collectors.

Non-operational.

Shiny, pretty things.

Because if Jae found out, it would be twelve years of lecturing him about how hard he worked to keep Dowoon _off_ the streets. If Jae found out, Dowoon could forget about Berklee--but also, a part of Dowoon wishes that he _could_ tell Jae if only to tell him that _he_ was working hard too, that he didn’t want Jae to carry the burden for both of them anymore.

And anyway, it wasn’t a complete deception.

It wasn’t strictly _lying_ because his guns didn’t necessarily function the way they had in their past lives. He made gun-grenades, gun-nets, guns that were hooked up to tiny chips he’d rigged (using tech he learned from Jae, oddly enough) so that when you pulled the trigger the chips exploded.

Dowoon didn’t just give guns their old lives back--he made them entirely new ones.

That night, he was working on an order from a couple of clients down in Chinatown: a set of his guns and explosive chips--three guns, twelve chips, custom timers for each. The way that Dowoon designed the chips was borrowed from Jae’s spiderbots but he’d used an insect as a model, favoring flight as opposed to stealth--he called these his mosquito bombs. They were small and had tiny wings that allowed them some height, some range, so that one could operate them, land them remotely from a short distance. They were hooked up to the guns via bluetooth and the trigger being pulled set off a heating command in the chips which raised the temperature until a spark caught on the saltpeter and fuel loaded into tiny compartments. Dowoon had a rhythm--it was, after all, his expertise--and would work until three in the morning non-stop, learning to put everything away when the part-time worker in the 7/11 across the street revved up his motorbike to leave, because that would mean it was almost four, because that would mean that soon Jae would come home and would check on him and would peer at his work desk to see what he was working on. Dowoon made sure to stash everything in the loose plank under his bed every night, made sure to leave out textbooks and partially-finished homework on his desk instead.

That night was no different. The motor revved, Dowoon cleaned up, Dowoon brushed his teeth and washed his face, and then lay awake, waiting for the sound of Jae’s key turning in the lock, waiting for the sound of the door opening, of Jae singing incredibly loud before walking into Dowoon’s room.

It didn’t come.

He sat up, glanced at the clock.

4:20 AM.

He checked his phone. No messages, nothing.

He went online, checked their Viber chat to be sure.

Nothing.

 **_Jae (hyung)2x Park_ ** , last active 2h45m ago.

Dowoon got up, packed his guns into his duffel bag along with his passport, his wallet, his and Jae’s papers in the red folding envelope they kept in the file cabinet in the living room, a couple of spare consoles Jae kept as back up. Dowoon put on his denim jacket, took the keys to Jae’s motorbike from where they hung on the inside of the kitchen cupboard.

4:30 AM.

Dowoon walked into Jae’s room, took the bag of cash, closed the apartment door behind him, and ran.  


 

This afternoon, Dowoon is in a seedy motel room so cheap and so small Dowoon feels like he slept in a coffin. It’s dark and dusty, the sheets are clean but the carpet is damp, the corners of the wallpaper turned down with mildew. The place is seven hours out of the city but he’d made it in five, riding at top speed and making no stops: it was dirty but it was a place to rest after a day of riding so long and so hard in the rain he felt like someone had run him over with a tractor.

He’d woken up later than he’d wanted to, hadn’t noticed the time slip by because the weather was still gray and stormy--he’s working now, trying to make up for lost time. In a rush, he’d hooked up the consoles, had tried all of Jae’s signature codes to try and hack into the one console he knew Jae would keep on his person no matter what: the small, slim one that he’d coded the spiderbots software on. Of course, there was no luck with hacking Jae, but what he _had_  been able to do was intercept a signal that was feeding into Jae’s console, that was using Jae’s back-ups as a conduit, bouncing off of the kindred devices to try and find Jae’s.

And from there, all he’d had to do was trace, to connect the dots.

Jae was about an hour and forty minutes away from him. Whatever the signal or the code was, it was messing with a lot of the things on Jae’s console, like an angry brat ripping a lego castle apart block by block. Dowoon frowns, hoping that Jae had the sense to protect the spiderbot code, hoping that Jae wasn’t doing something stupid--and knowing almost immediately that he was.

Dowoon sighs, locks in the coordinates before turning everything off and packing it back up.

 _Hang in there, hyungie. This time, I’ll save you._  


 

“Jae, three o’clock, bald guy--” Brian tucks and rolls before landing on one knee and taking out one of the henchmen aiming for Jae from the south right as Jae takes out one of the men behind Brian and another to his right.

_Four down, eight to go._

“--gotcha,” Jae runs for cover behind one of the crates across from Brian. “Up top, blue jacket.

Brian nods, shooting at one of the men perched on the overhang above them. He falls like debris onto the hard floor. Jae cringes at the sound.

_Five-seven._

They’d both done well to walk in wary: as soon as they stepped in through the doors,  as soon as they’d crossed the threshold, the door had shut behind them and gunfire had rung out, armed men--twelve, on Brian’s last count--firing at them from all directions. Jae knew they could use the spiderbots as a last resort but they needed a close range, containment for that--the warehouse was too wide, its ceilings too tall. The gas would simply dissipate, wouldn’t have the potency required to knock them out.

Brian nods toward the tall crane in the middle of the warehouse where three of the seven men were circling, on the lookout for them. Right on the periphery were the four other men, coming to converge, to re-plan, in the wake of discovering their other comrades shot down, dead.

Brian mouths the word _spider._

Jae nods.

_Three, two, one._

They run at full force toward the center of the room, Jae grinning as all seven men lunge for them--he tosses the smallest spiderbot onto the crane, hears the small _clink_ as it latches onto the metal. He hits Enter. His and Brian’s masks go up. But the gas doesn’t go. But the men are still running toward them--and this time, they catch them, both of them with nowhere to go, both of them caught off guard.

“Fuck--” Brian’s voice is rough through his mask as he writhes, struggles.

There’s the sound of a gun being kicked across rough cement as Brian lets out a yelp of pain.

Jae manages to wriggle out of the henchmen’s grasp long enough to disengage their masks--and then Jae’s console is being ripped from his grasp.

And then he sees one of the henchmen put a handkerchief loaded with chemicals over Brian’s mouth.

“--Brian!” Jae cries out, his screams stifled as someone presses cloth to his nose, his mouth, and his world swims and he slips out of consciousness.

 

When Brian comes to, he and Jae are below-ground. The only light peeking in from outside comes through a small slant at the top of the room. It’s still raining outside. They’re sitting side by side, unbound, but the room is sealed. The walls are made of smooth, gray concrete. The door is a big block of metal without so much as a slant beneath it through which light and shadow could peek through. His heart lurches as he sees Jae’s lanky form behind him, slumped against the wall. His eyebrow is bleeding, his cheeks ruddied from the fight. Brian inches toward him slowly, his entire body aching from the fight.

“Jae?” Brian asks, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Jae, are you alright?”

A hint of a smile, a soft _hmmm_ in the dark.

“I’m alive. Pretty sure it isn’t the best for you to breathe in formalin but it’s better than not breathing at all.”

Brian pauses, unsure how to reply--wonders if he should say something snappy or just tell the truth, and for once decides to let himself be vulnerable. He doesn’t speak, only moves close until he’s right beside Jae before leaning against Jae’s shoulder, putting his arms around him in a hug.

Jae puts a hand on Brian’s shoulder, not even bothering to try and think of anything witty to say. Brian flinches but leans into his touch. It’s been so long since someone held him--held him back, held him like this.

Jae softly presses his cheek to the top of Brian’s head, winding an arm around his shoulder.

“Sorry about the bots. I don’t know what happened. I feel like I keep on messing shit up for you--”

“--on the contrary,” Brian says, blinking up at Jae, watching the way that his skin looks ethereal in the dim light, the way that his eyes still hold some kind of hope, some kind of joy, despite the fact that they have no idea how the fuck they’re going to get out of here. “You keep saving me. If it weren’t for you, we’d probably be in federal prison by now. If it weren’t for you, that guy in the sewers would’ve probably blown my brains out.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jae speaks up.

“Can I ask you a question?"

“Well, you’re already doing it, smartass--”

“--why did you get mad at me? All those years ago. I mean I get it, maybe we shouldn’t have kissed, maybe it made us do stupid things and panic, maybe it made me botch the code. I was being unprofessional, but I thought that there was a real connection there somewhere. I thought it was stronger than--”

“--I don’t care about a lot of people,” Brian cuts in. “I was emancipated from my parents at sixteen, was adopted by a guy who sold guns to the goddamn mob, had to runaway from all that to graduate to rigging guns and guarding people who were basically scum of the Earth. And then I met this guy who looked like fucking sunshine and who made me laugh and who was smart and who liked me back and who kissed like he was born to french the living daylights out of me--and then suddenly, all of that, everything I found myself being hopeful for was being held at gunpoint--”

“--Bri, he wasn’t going to actually _shoot_ me--”

“--you couldn’t have known that,” Brian said, shaking his head, his eyes stinging with tears at the memory. “You were so damn reckless, so fucking stupidly optimistic. I was already reeling from loss, already watching everything slip out of my grasp again and well, growing up, the only reaction I really knew to tie to loss was anger. So much goddamn anger.”

“Hey, BriBri,” Jae says, meeting Brian’s gaze.

“Yeah?” Brian’s voice is soft, barely a whisper.

“If we ever get out of here,” Jae says slowly.

“ _When_ we get out of here,” Brian corrects him.

“Who’s the optimist now?”

“Whatever.”

“Fine. When we get out of here--do you think there’s a chance that we could you know, go out? Do normal people things? Maybe have coffee, wear matching sweaters, that kind of idiotic stuff?”

Brian smiles, puts a hand up to cup Jae’s cheek before straightening up and lifting his face to Jae’s, watching Jae’s cheeks go red as he realizes what’s happening, watching Jae’s eyes flutter shut before leaning in to close the distance between them in a soft kiss. Brian sighs into it, Jae’s lips parting at his touch. Brian licks softly, slowly into Jae’s mouth, Jae letting out the softest of moans as he licks back tongue slick and warm against Brian’s. Jae lets his hands softly ruffle the hair on the base of Brian’s neck as Brian holds him closer, the kiss deepening until both of their hearts are pounding. When they pull away, both of them are breathless.

“Why are you always kissing me in prison?” Jae asks, grinning against Brian’s lips, skimming their noses together.

Brian grins. “I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

And then the door swings open, the heavy metal scraping against the concrete, the sound of it shrill and loud in the enclosed space.

“How touching. It’s good you two got to say your goodbyes because what’s going to happen next isn’t going to be very good for either of you.”

They both look up and shock hits them like a bucket of cold ice.

Walking through the doorway is Bernard, followed by none other than Mr. Gamja himself, grinning a wide, malicious grin.

“I knew it! What the fuck do you want from us?” Brian spits out, bracing himself against the wall, trying to get up.

Bernard laughs, signaling at four henchmen who rush in and hold Jae and Brian back, who cuff them with their hands behind their backs and then pull their hair so they’re looking up at Gamja and Bernard. Bernard grins down at them.

“Do you _know_ who you delivered that chip for all those years ago, Brian?” Bernard asks, his voice filled with anger. “Do you know how many people at Gamja Corp lost their jobs when that information was breached? My father lost his job for a breach he wasn’t responsible for and we had to go through hell--”

“--Bernie,” Jae says. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know--you have to calm the fuck down. We were henchmen. You know that right? We literally move things along. We don’t actually _know_ what’s happening and if Gamja knew your dad wasn’t behind him they shouldn’t have fired him--”

“--and yet,” Gamja says, pulling out his gun and pressing it to Jae’s forehead. “People take falls for things that aren’t their fault all the time. Your boyfriend managed to kill my son for doing his job, didn’t he? The heir to everything I worked for, an intelligent boy who was kind and hardworking died with a bullet through his forehead, choking in sewer water--”

“--what was your son doing guarding a goddamn prison--” Brian writhes, tries to pull free to no avail.

“--who the fuck do you think provides the surveillance tech for the biggest prison in the country?” Bernard cuts in, his voice dripping with anger. He walks over, knees Brian in the gut. “You fucked up good that time, Brian.”

Brian lets out a grunt of pain, looks up at Bernard.

“--at least I don’t sell my friends out for misplaced revenge.”

Gamja grins, cocks his gun. “Be that as it may, you’re going to watch your boyfriend die.”


	5. Feel The Earth Move & Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fight, flight.

Jae shuts his eyes, heart pounding, time seeming to slow, palms clammy, breath catching in his throat--there is no flashback, no life that flickers before his eyes like a supercut, no one moment that he relives over and over again. There’s only a single thought that runs through him like string through the eye of a needle as he feels the mouth of Gamja’s gun press against his forehead, the steel cold and hard as he cocks the gun:  _ at least.  _

He thinks of the first drum set that he’d bought Dowoon almost eleven years now when he was fresh out of the first ever job that he’d done (he was sixteen, had charged a mere five hundred dollars for a pretty complex hack job)--it was bright red and brandless but refurbished by some of his musician friends with premium skins and parts pilfered from old Pearl sets. There wasn’t anyone who could move it for him so Jae had made four trips back and forth from Sungjn’s old garage where he’d put the thing together to their apartment, only having enough cash to take a cab when it was time to move the bass drum. In many ways, it was a Frankenstein’s monster of a piece: the finishings brass, silver, gold in different areas, the skins mismatched. But when Dowoon played it, it sounded gold. When Dowoon played it, his face lit up and Jae knew it was worth every goddamn penny. 

_ At least I was able to give Dowoon a better life than the one I had.  _

_ At least.  _

Jae not of a memory but of a fantasy dreamt to life only a few moments before, a hope sparked like a candle in a windy night: held close to be kept alive. Jae thinks of a safe, warm place, with a big, soft, bed on which are littered the softest pillows, the thickest blankets. Sunlight filters in through the windows, there is the smell of coffee and sugar and butter singed on a hot pan. The door is open part way--through it he can see Brian’s silhouette in the kitchen, his broad back, the outline of his dark hair when mussed from sleep, Jae’s oversized flannel hanging off his back. Jae would smile and close his eyes again, pretend to sleep until Brian came to rouse him. Or else, he would tiptoe out of the room and into the kitchen, slipping his arms softly but surely around Brian’s waist before kissing him on the cheek, feeling the safe, soft warmth of him in his arms. A safe place.  _ His  _ safe place. 

_ At least there was the kiss. At least there was the dream of a life together. _

_ At least. At least.  _

Jae takes the deepest breath, braces for the end, for the nothing, for oblivion--and then the gun goes off. 

Jae hears Brian scream, waits for the shock of pain, waits to feel himself crumple to the ground.

Nothing.

Jae wonders at the lack of pain, wonders at the ease with which the border between life and death is crossed. 

“Get up, get up!” Brian’s voice tears through the haze of Jae’s thoughts.

He opens his eyes. Gamja is lying on the floor, leg held down with some silver contraption, gun lying across the floor, a hole in one of the crates where the bullet had lodged itself. Bernard is pinned back by one of the same silver contraptions, binding his wrist to the heavy door behind him. 

“Come on, Jae--” Brian leaps for Gamja’s gun, holds it aloft. 

“--what the fuck’s happening?” 

“I don’t know,” Brian says, nodding at the narrow window atop the cell. “Someone shot those silver things in through that window--”

“--STAND BACK--” A cry comes from outside the window. 

Jae presses Brian to the far wall, wrapping himself around him, thankful for the heft of Brian in his arms, the assurance that he was there, that he was safe--and the entire opposite wall is blown to smithereens. 

Daylight shines down bright through the cell. And through the cloud of dust and debris, a motorbike comes diving in from outside, skidding to a stop just short of Jae and Brian. Jae grins as he watches Dowoon put a leg down for support, unclips his helmet. He’s wearing a denim jacket over an AC/DC shirt tucked into jeans, leather boots. Jae’s gigantic backpack of cash is strapped to his back. 

Dowoon pulls out two guns, shoots another cuff that pins Bernard’s hand down just as he’s about to reach for his gun. 

The gun clatters to the floor, Bernard lets out a loud groan. 

“Dowoonie--” Jae starts, pulling Brian along with him.

“Ohhh  _ the  _ Dowoonie?” Brian asks, eyebrows raised. “In the flesh, finally--”

“--the one and only.” Dowoon slips his gun back into its holster, grins. He turns to face Jae. “You okay, hyungie?”

“Yeah.” Jae grins, nods to Gamja and Bernard, the small steel crescents that hold them down. “I don’t know whether to thank you or to kill you. What  _ are  _ those things?”

Dowoon grins nervously. “Long story. Just remember point is that those things saved your life--”

“--how did you blow the place up--”

“--mosquitobots--”

“-- _ mosquito _ bots--”

“--well, mosquito _ bombs _ \--”

“--bombs! Yoon Dowoon!”

“ _ Anyway _ , remember, they saved your life--” 

“--guys,” Brian says, pointing his gun toward the doorway. They can hear Gamja’s men running down toward them. “I hate to break up the reunion but we’re going to have to get going.” 

“Wait,” Jae says, walking over to Bernard, who’s glaring at him. “I need to go get my consoles off of this traitor--”

“--you’ll pay for this Jae,” Bernard says as Jae frisks him. “You’re going to pay for this--for everything you’ve done. And this time, I’ll make sure to take your idiot boyfriend and your runt cousin with you. The cops are on their way and once they get here--” 

“--right,” Jae grins, taking his consoles, his stolen spider bots--and Bernard’s wallet, his bankcard, an unopened strawberry lollipop that happens to be sitting in his coat pocket. Jae unwraps the lollipop, slips in into his mouth. “I really don’t think so. It’s really optimistic to think of you your shit boss is going to let you live after fucking this up. And I love that your faith in the criminal justice system is so unwavering when your company is one of the biggest in the whole country despite the fact that they’ve got corruption and fraud charges up to their ears.” 

Bernard’s hands coil into fists and he tries to free himself but the cuffs are strong, lodged deep into the door behind him. 

“Shut the fuck--” 

Jae looks up, takes a shot at one of the guards running toward them before walking back to where Brian and Dowoon are standing. 

“--see ya never, Bernie.” 

Guards charge through the door.

Brian fires--takes out four guards in a row. 

Dowoon flips his two guns, letting them spin around his index fingers, handling them easy as drumsticks before pulling them upright, releasing the safety and firing. From the nozzle springs a thin but wide net that contracts as soon as it makes contact with the guards’ bodies, knotting them together, holding them tight, binding them in place.

“Easy lemon peasy,” Dowoon says, grinning.

Jae raises an eyebrow. “We’ve got a lot of talking to do, you and me, kid--”

“--your baby cousin is so fucking cool,” Brian says, eyes wide in awe. “Holy shit you need to tell me  _ everything.  _ I mean, of course I’ve heard of you and your ballistics from black market dealers and stuff but--”

“--the  _ black market _ ?” Jae asks, voice cracking, eyes searching Dowoon’s face for the truth.

Dowoon ignores him, turns to Brian. “--thanks, Brian. Heard of you too.”

Jae rolls his eyes. “You can’t ignore me forever--”

“--I like your boyfriend, hyung. He’s awesome--”

“--well, he isn’t my--I mean--not yet, I don’t think--we haven’t talked about it--” Jae blushes.

Brian laughs. “And we never will if we don’t get out of here, fast. The cops’ll be here any second.” 

“You guys Hello Kitty bike’s still out there. I can take that, trail you guys. You guys take hyung’s bike.” Dowoon nods, getting off of the motorbike and slipping the backpack off his shoulders, handing it over to Brian who puts it on. He hands Jae the helmet and Jae hands him the keys to the pink bike.

“We can make for the border,” Brian says. “But we’ll have to take the backroads, keep it lowkey.”

Jae grins, straddling the bike, revving the engine. Brian gets on behind him, slipping his arms around Jae’s waist. 

“Let’s get it.” 

  
  


They heave a sigh of collective relief the moment that they make it past the crossing. Hours and hours of riding, of trying to lie low, of tensing at the sound of every car that seemed to drive a little too close, of feeling panic flood through him at the sight of any flashing light--a brake light mistaken for a siren--and Brian’s just about ready to die from fear when they finally go through, when they cruise onto the dirt road and away from everything. 

He grins, leans against Jae’s tall but broad frame. He sees Jae grin at him in the side mirror before turning his gaze to the road and going full speed ahead. Brian looks at Dowoon’s reflection, a pink blur as he follows them. 

The open road, the setting sun. 

And finally, no sign of rain. 


	6. Face It All Together // Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least.

Jae wakes up from a bad dream--in the dream, they were back in the city, back in that country beyond the border. Back where people were always on their tails. In the dream, there was a chase, there was the sound of guns firing, there was the squeal of rubber on cement. Jae’s heart is pounding.

It takes him a moment to realize where he is, who he is, what the reality of the situation is,  _ when _ it is. He grins as he takes it all in: bright sunlight coming in through the window, the curtains billowing in the soft breeze. Outside the window, the sound of the sea crashing against the shore. He stretches out in bed. The sheets are warm, the pillows soft, Brian’s shirt from the night before still hanging off of the bedpost.

Jae glances at the calendar they've tacked onto the far wall.

It's Saturday morning.

Jae closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He can smell coffee brewing, can hear the sizzle of bacon as it hits the lightly-greased pan. In the distance, he can hear Dowoon in the adjacent unit, the bass drum going  _ thud thud thud  _ as he practices. Jae glances at the door which is open just a crack--through the slice of space he can see Brian’s silhouette in the kitchen as he makes breakfast: shoulders broad, hair a mess, apron tied into a ribbon at the waist, the red string cinching the loose fabric of Jae’s oversized plaid shirt. 

Their life isn’t perfect--far from it. The apartment is small, Dowoon’s place even smaller. It's cramped and sometimes they fight about who does what and which chores go where. Sometimes they get on each other's nerves, sometimes things are less than peachy. For one, they both work incredibly normal jobs: Brian at the record store, Jae at the cafe, Dowoon at the gas station. But it’s a life that’s peaceful, that’s all theirs. But they all have each other. But when Brian forgets to take the trash out, he takes over Jae's dishwashing duties in the evening and kisses him soft and slow to say  _sorry_. But they bring each other books and records and share everything between them. But they have afternoons spent swimming in the sea, evenings spent lying on the sand, just talking.

Jae likes the certainty of their home, likes knowing where he’ll be, likes being a pin on the map, having an X-marks-the-spot to head toward, for once not longing for the thrill of the chase. 

For once able to be still.

He grins, wondering if he’ll walk into the kitchen, plant a soft kiss on Brian’s nape or lie in bed and wait for Brian to come through the door and rouse him with soft kisses. Or maybe they’ll have breakfast in bed and Brian will read him one of his favorite jokes from the morning paper--or maybe they’ll make slow love when Brian comes to wake him, maybe they'll fall asleep and take a nap before getting up to eat their breakfast that's cooled in the meantime, perching at their dining table set by the window that faces the sea. 

For now, Jae thinks, letting himself take a deep breath. What matters is that it’s all possible. 

_ At least.  _


End file.
